


A Very Proud Monster

by sherlocked221



Series: A Tale of an OFC and her Hormone Monster [1]
Category: Big Mouth (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Fantasizing about the rocky horror picture show, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 14:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17510084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocked221/pseuds/sherlocked221
Summary: Maurice has to help his most recent assignment learn how to finger herself.Least to say, he's quite excited.(sort of a prequel to Shamefully Horny. It's based on the same OFC)





	A Very Proud Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starry_Eclipse87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starry_Eclipse87/gifts).



> Apologies for the random reference to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I've just seen it and am a bit of a fan... of Tim Curry in fishnets...
> 
> Also I forgot to gift this to the person who actually gave me the idea for this fic, so I apologise for leaving it so long Starry_Eclipse87!

You’re sitting on the floor in your bedroom like you usually do. You’re bored, tired, and looking for any reason not to crawl into bed for late afternoon nap.

Your reason comes in the form of your Hormone monster Maurice. As if out of thin air- which is probably right- he appears behind you. You can just feel the heat of his soft brown fur radiate towards you, his cheeky gaze directed at you. You roll your eyes. Sometimes you hate being a teenager.

“No.” You say before he can suggest anything.

Perhaps it’s not that you hate being a teenager. It’s more like being an adult, isn’t it? To suppress such urges and control them? Maybe it’s acting more adult that you’re not a fan of.

You don’t even look at him. You’re staring at your laptop, watching whatever crap on Youtube that just about holds your attention. Well, sort of holds your attention. Your mind does wander. Maurice is evidence of that enough. He etches ever closer to you, giving you a look you don’t need to see to know he’s making. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He says. You sigh. You might just have to give in to him. Not give into the reason he’s here. You just want to talk to him, to entertain yourself. Spinning around on your butt, you face him and find that he’s nudged a pillow from your bed onto the floor. Hurriedly, he insists, “It wasn’t me! It just fell!”

“Oh sure.” You say, unconvinced, “You weren’t going to say anything, you were just going to entice me with a pillow to grind on, hu?”

Feigning guilt, Maurice picks up the cushion and looks down at it. You see him glance at you a couple of times, cheekily, to see whether you really mean it, whether you really will pass up this perfect opportunity to have a little play with yourself. His mind is yours, so he can tell there’s some doubt in you, that you kind of want to do it, that you think it is the perfect time to do it.

“It was just an idea.” He innocently replies. He must know he’s not convincing you. Not only can he basically read your mind- or you have the same mind, you can’t really remember how it works- but you know that he literally has no shame. Apparently there’s a whole other being that deals with shame. You’ve yet to meet that one of course. You’ve just got Maurice, and he’s a bad influence on you. A really bad one. Because the longer he lingers, taking forever to put the pillow back on the bed, the more you’re kind of wondering how bad it would be if you just gave in.

The thing is, you don’t get why it’s so bad. That’s the worst part. You feel as though you shouldn’t just give in, but you don’t know why. And Maurice has the unnerving habit of reminding you of that every time.

“Ok,” He enthuses, finally throwing the pillow down, “Let’s watch some videos of those sexy 60s rock stars.” He shuffles up next to you, practically pushing you aside to get onto the computer. You’re a reasonably polite person, would never retort had anyone actually done that, but because it’s only Maurice, and he’s basically a part of you or whatever, you have no qualms slamming your body into his. Unfortunately, he seems totally unfazed, finding it funny in fact.

“Come on, that’s basically porn!” You counter, quite feebly, because you know that is not exactly an argument against.

In a huskier voice than usual- and his voice is pretty damn husky anyway- he replies, “I know.”

“Maurice, come on, I was watching that!”

“You know,” He continues as though he hasn’t even heard you, “If this is halfway to porn, why don’t we just go the whole way. It’s all as bad as each other, right?”

You’ve been leaning against him this whole time, trying to fit your hands under or over his, whichever way you think you might be able to gain control of the computer again. He’s too big however, and overpowers you easily. He could just push you aside if he wanted.

But that’s not what he wants. He wants to play, he doesn’t want to annoy you entirely so you might tell him to get lost. He wants to entice you, and he’s doing a good job. He’s appealing to your worse side, the side that questions what is right and wrong. The side that is very much like Maurice.

You stop pushing against him, and you sigh.

“Alright!” You declare, finally able to snatch the keyboard from him. He laughs, knowing he’s won. Well, he’s sort of won. Instead of doing your usual thing of opening an incognito browser, you close the current tab you’ve been watching Youtube on and you shut the lid of the laptop.

Distraught, Maurice stands up abruptly, “What are you doing?”

“We’ll have a play, but I’m not going to look at that stuff. We’re going to do this properly.”

“What are we going to do properly?” Maurice asks. He’s practically forgotten that you’re not watching porn anymore. You’ve got him hooked. As you lower yourself down onto the carpeted floor, he mirrors you, lying beside you.

“We’re going to go up there.”

He gasps.

It’s a big thing. You’ve only ever played with yourself one way, and not that you’re bored with it- because how could you get bored with that feeling…- you’re just bored in general and want something new to do. And you’ve never been able to do that before. You know, put a finger up there. But you want to. You think you’re ready for it. And Maurice only urges you on with his excitement. You can feel him practically shaking beside you.

“So, what should we think of? That movie where that guy picks that girl up and her body is pressed against his? That hot teacher at school?”

“Wait a minute,” You butt in, “I need to work out how the hell I do it first.” You turn your head towards Maurice, “How do you do it?”

“I don’t know.” He replies. You huff.

“What do you mean?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“I’m not your first girl!” You feel like you’re reminding him of that. It’s a bit off putting that Maurice sounds quite genuine in his lack of guidance. One thing you can always tell about him is when he is teasing you, and when he genuinely means something. You can tell when he actually doesn’t know something.

It’s frustrating that the holes in his knowledge lines up with your own.

“Well no, but I still don’t know.” He cries back at you, “It can’t be too hard. Just stick ‘em up there!”

You shake your head. It can’t be that easy. Maurice should think that too. He was there when you tried before. It just didn’t work. There has to be a step you’re missing to stop it from hurting. You’re going to take your time today, since you have time to waste. Calming yourself down, you decide to answer Maurice’s original question. That seems like a good place to start.

“Let’s think about that movie.” You tell him. He’s so easy to distract. One minute he’s urging you to watch porn, next he’s pissed off because you’re not, then he’s lying next to you waiting to touch himself. Now he’s visibly sinking into the memory of this one scene in this movie. Oh it was so hot. You don’t know why. It was a mere moment, a split second frame, just a shot of an actor who you don’t know lifting an actress you don’t recognise up as though she weighed less than a feather, and placed her on a table. It was totally innocent a scene, but you seemed to make it dirty. Maurice turned up the first time you watched it, and narrated the image you were thinking of, down to the hairs you could imagine on the actor’s chest. When you reply it, it still brings an electric rush of pleasure coursing through you. 

It’s a good choice to start this with. 

You hand slides down your stomach and over your clothed hip. It dips between the waistband of your jeans and underwear, you middle finger seeking out that middle section that just makes you utterly lose it. 

Meanwhile, Maurice has turned on his side to face you better. He watches you intently. You’re waiting. He’s rarely ever this silent. You’re waiting for him to spill a load of filthy comments your way, you want him to remind you of how rough and handsome that actor was, how prim and proper that slender girl was, you’re ready to fantasise hard.

So why is he so quiet. 

Opening your half shut eyes, you look at him, “Hey.”

“Hey what?” He snaps back as though he had been in a trance, focusing too hard on something. 

“What are you doing?’   
“Well, aren’t you going to put it in?” 

You sigh. You get his excitement, and impatience. You really want to feel what it’s really like to have something fill you up, without it hurting. But you know you’re missing something, there’s something you’re not doing and you need to take the time to work it out. Ignoring him, you continue with what you’re doing, arching your back a little.

Oh yeah, that feels nice. 

“Will you please talk?” You insist to Maurice. He obliges, in that husky voice, practically breathing in your ear. 

“Could you imagine him picking her up and shoving her on a bed. Oooo he could rip off her clothes…”

“And she’d scream.” You join in. Though you can feel Maurice looking and waiting, you carry on. When you feel yourself getting slick enough, you push your fingers under your underwear. They’re strangely cold. Your stomach flinches and you giggle. You’re getting breathless, arching your back, pushing your feet down into the floor and lifting up your hips. Maurice falls silent away, his eyes widening. You don’t really want to stop and chide him, but through gritted teeth you  _ remind _ him to stay on track. He continues. 

“Then she’d kind of get into it.” He says, “Want to get all dirty, start ripping off this clothes.”

“What is this?” You laugh breathlessly back, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

Maurice practically growls, “Oh yeah, well don’t you remember Tim Curry in those fishnets and heels.” 

You keep laughing. Thankfully it’s not stifling the pleasure currently building inside you. Still you can’t quite believe… “I am not touching myself to that.”

“Yes you are.” Maurice tells you, “Look at you, you love it.”

He knows you too well. Just remembering the song Sweet Transvestite is getting you off as well as any slightly more conventional movie scene. It kind of makes you feel sexy, that song. You’ve dressed up before to sing it, and you loved strutting around in your heels, grinding against anything that you got close to. 

You spread your legs further and let your middle finger slip between your lips. You feel your entrance. That’s not too foreign to you. You’re quite accustomed to what it feels like and looks like. What you’re curious about is what the inside is like. Totally ignoring your voyeuristic hormone monster, you push your fingertip in. It is coated in slick, and seems to slide in further than you meant it to. But for the first time, it feels fine. 

In fact, it feels fucking good. 

“Ah yes!” Maurice cries, “I knew you’d do it. Doesn’t it feel…”

“Fuck,” You moan, not hearing his question. He probably doesn’t even care if it’s answered. He’s just proud of you, and excited. You’re pretty damn excited too, slipping your finger as far up inside you as possible and massaging where ever feels good. You try thrusting in and out, you try curling your fingers around. You even manage to get another finger up there, which makes you see white behind your eyes. There’s no pain, just a tugging, stretching feeling which is intoxicating. You’re so close. You turn your head towards Maurice and bury your face in the warm fur on his arm. Fondly, he lays a hand over the back of your head as you come.

“I’m so proud of you, you little perv.”


End file.
